Night Zero (Book 1): Night Zero

by Horner, Rob

  It lasted for a moment.

  Then came a pain unlike anything he’d ever imagined could exist, a bonfire lit on the end of every nerve. All the muscles in his body contracted so forcefully that his back rose as far off the morgue drawer as possible, his stomach brushing the ceiling of his sliding coffin, so that only the back of his heels and the back of his head remained in contact with the slide. The walls of the drawer kept him from falling to one side or the other. In that moment, Officer Tim Reynolds of the Gaffney Police Department ceased to be. The knowledge he’d learned, the wisdom he’d gained—those were retained, a database freely accessible by the altered consciousness stirring within him, a stripped-down version of the person, ego and superego removed so only the id remained, drive without consequence, action without consideration. With this emergence came a purpose, a need to hunt. Like all become, he could share, but this would not be his primary goal.

  Instead he discovered a new sense awakening. There was a strangeness in the air, a scent that burned the nose and tickled the brain.

  As his muscles relaxed, Tim tried to twist in his confinement, sensing the strangeness somewhere beyond his prison, people moving behind layers of metal, wood, and sheetrock. Several of them were wrong. They could not become, and thus they would not be allowed to live.

  That was his new purpose.

  To hunt.

  But first, he needed to finish his change.

  As another spasm of muscle contractions heralded a second wave of fiery pain, Tim the hunter gritted his teeth and grinned, feeling the changes occurring in his arms and legs, fibers coiling and coalescing, creating something new from the old, empowering him to fulfill his new purpose.

  He was becoming something more.

  It turned out the supply closet was just across the hall from the nurses’ station, which left Buck feeling like a fifth wheel as the two women turned, took a step, and entered the small room.

  “Maybe I’ll just stay here then,” he mumbled, earning a small laugh from one of the girls.

  Dr. Crews and Rose had moved out from behind the desk, the doctor trying to position the shorter woman beneath one of the wall-mounted emergency lights to better assess the wound on her face. Wishing he hadn’t left his smartphone in the ambulance, Buck moved closer to the pair, unable to dismiss a nagging sense of disquiet. Something wasn’t right, and it had him antsy. He wondered if this is what people meant when they tried to describe a feeling of being watched.

  Where the doctor and Rose set up was just to the side of the nurses’ station, and though the doctor wore a lab coat with deep pockets, he laid his .380 on the nearby counter rather than dropping it into one of them. Buck could respect that. It would suck to have to struggle to pull a gun out and have it snag in a pocket—or worse, go off accidentally and shoot himself in the leg. The doctor had his smartphone out and was fiddling with the screen, fingers swiping, and suddenly the flash lit up, casting a garish white glow on Rose’s shirt, where streaks of dried blood showed as a deep maroon.

  “Got some car keys here,” Grace announced, popping up from her perusal of a pocketbook stashed under the station. “Looks like Tina found a set too.”

  “Okay, hold onto them,” Dr. Crews said, angling his phone-turned-flashlight up to Rose’s face.

  “Like we was gonna throw them away,” Grace muttered, earning a smile from Tina.

  Edging closer, Buck caught a flash of movement in his peripheral vision, probably just the women coming out of the supply room.

  “Just tell me what you—” Rose mumbled, her words trailing off into silence.

  Everything happened at once.

  Tina shouted out, “Hey! Wait!”

  Buck turned to look. “That’s Danny!” he said.

  Dr. Crews got his light over Rose’s wound.

  Rose…changed. Her face went from slack to twisted.

  Crews said something, a single-syllable oath, his light illuminating a writhing mass of red and blue inside the narrow laceration, like colorful maggots infesting a wound.

  Both Buck and Dr. Crews reached for the pistol.

  Dr. Crews was closer. His hand closed around the grip. Rose reached out, her arm slamming down on the doctor’s. The gun discharged, the bullet zinging through the air midway between Tina and Grace, close enough that later both would be able to describe the sound it made as it passed. The doctor’s hand spasmed open as something cracked in his forearm where the bone met the edge of the counter. His .380 tumbled from nerveless fingers, landing on the floor.

  Loathe to take his eyes off the fleeing rookie, Buck ducked and felt around the floor, fingers locating the dropped pistol. He grabbed it and rose, only then noticing Caitlin standing beside him, legs spread in a shooter’s stance. She fired once, but it was too late.

  Not that she missed. No, it was obvious she’d hit her target, from the way he lurch-stumbled forward, right into the crash bar of the door back out into the hallway.

  The doctor fell back, drawing in his injured left arm as he tried to fight off Rose with his right.

  “Oh shit!” Tina said.

  Jessica and Jordyn came out of the supply room, hands cradling bandaging supplies but eyes wild and scared.

  Buck saw a half-dozen forms, maybe more, milling outside the doors. They didn’t jostle each other like soon-to-be-brides outside a markdown showcase. They were just standing there, waiting for the doors to open. As soon as there was room, they began rushing inside.

  He aimed into the mass and fired once, then again, two bodies falling, though they seemed very much not dead and ready to get back up.

  “Buck!” Dr. Crews yelled.

  The paramedic turned and saw Rose reaching up with both hands, trying to wrap them around the doctor’s thick neck. Her head pushed forward behind the arms, seeking a place to bite into. The doctor moved back as she pushed, keeping his body away from her mouth but unable to break free.

  Grace screamed.

  Buck fired the gun again, this time into the side of Rose’s head. Her arms fell away as her body tumbled to the side.

  Not stopping to think about what he’d done, Buck turned back to the hallway, firing again. Another body fell. Caitlin squeezed the trigger of her gun, the bullet catching a woman in the shoulder and spinning her a full one-eighty.

  “Rosie!” Grace cried.

  “We’ve got to move!” Dr. Crews yelled, straining to be heard over another gunshot. “Bring the keys!”

  Buck fired a fifth time, dropping another rushing form. They were crowding through the doors now, almost shoulder to shoulder, impossible to miss.

  He squeezed the trigger a sixth time, and the slide racked back over his hand and stayed there.

  Caitlin’s gun was empty too, but she ejected the magazine with a flick of the thumb, reached into the kangaroo pouch on the front of her scrubs, retrieved a second magazine, and slapped it home. Another flick of the thumb racked the slide forward.

  Shouldn’t I have one more bullet? Buck wondered, then remembered the accidental shot caused when Rose attacked the doctor.

  A hand grabbed his arm, demanding, pulling.

  “Move! Now!” Dr. Crews said.

  The women were already moving, running down the center hallway, away from the people coming through.

  Brandon and Tina each had Grace by an arm, pulling her away from the body of her friend.

  Jessica and Jordyn led the pack, already turning left at the other side of the ellipse.

  One of the crazy people jumped forward, trying to grab Buck, but he pivoted out of the way, spinning back with a wicked right cross that drove his attacker to the ground. Not wanting to give anyone else a chance to grab him, he joined the doctor and the nurses in a mad dash down the hall.

  Danny leaned against the bars of the left-hand door, letting the flow of become continue to stream by him. The bullet had torn into his back, exiting out his lower right stomach in what would have been a gory splatter if he still had blood flowing through his body. He d
idn’t, unless the viscous, dark gray goo leaking out of the wound could be called blood. There was no sense of pain and no lessening of his ability to function, which was really all that mattered.

  He waited there in order to keep the door open, and because he had no desire to cease to function, which was a distinct possibility. The big man with the booming pistol—Buck, his name is Buck, and he was supposed to be your trainer—managed to end several other become in their mad dash to share. Danny didn’t feel any antipathy toward the man, but a part of him understood the same could not be said in reverse.

  He certainly didn’t waste any time shooting at you, a small voice in his head reminded him.

  Informed logic overrode the small voice.

  It was the small woman with the curly hair who shot me.

  Those thoughts were distractions and he needed to ignore them.

  The last of the become entered the Med-Surg wing, a surging force twenty strong. Most stepped or jumped over their fallen brothers and ran off in pursuit of the big man and his fellow unbecome. A few wandered off to the sides, perhaps seeking others with whom to share. Danny felt no need to inform them there were no other survivors in the unit. He’d made sure of it.

  Seeking the voice of his creator, Danny opened himself up.

  Instructions were waiting.

  Come and witness.

  Danny left the unit, following the wall to the right.

  Their final, desperate run through the back hallway and out the single door to the employee parking lot was a chaotic blur to Tina.

  She remembered Buck handing the gun back to Dr. Crews, who said something about only having four rounds left in his other magazine.

  There was a moment, as Jessica and Jordyn reached the door leading outside, where Buck turned and beat down the lead man chasing them.

  And then when they reached the door, with Brandon in the lead ready to pull them through, Grace set her feet and refused to budge.

  “Come out!” Dr. Crews shouted, and Tina wanted to scream in frustration.

  Brandon danced with impatience, one foot out the door already. And there was Buck in the back, sizing up the situation in a second and turning in place, ready to fight until the end.

  “I can’t go,” Grace said, and she stopped as though she were waiting for someone else to add something. The one-second of silence before Tina could think of a reply was all the affirmation Grace needed. Suddenly she jerked, freeing her arm from Brandon’s grasp, and then both of her hands were on Tina’s, pushing the second keyring between her fingers.

  “Take these. I won’t need them.”

  Then the little black woman tore herself free, strong arms pushing Tina out the door.

  “You can’t—” Buck started to say, but Grace was gone, pushing past him and rushing at the five or six bodies just coming into the back hallway like they were pins and she was a five-foot tall bowling ball. She let out a yell as she ran, maybe trying to draw their attention, maybe just screaming her way from one world and into the next.

  “For Rosie!”

  Brandon spun Tina around, clearing the doorway so Buck could exit. They were outside, and the moon was up, shining on the half-dozen cars in the lot. Objectively, the night wasn’t brighter than any other, but after being trapped in the emergency department, running from one threat to another, and spending the last hour or so in near darkness, it felt almost like stepping out into daylight. No crazy people—she wasn’t ready to think of them any other way—jumped out; no one tried to attack her.

  “Jordyn!” Jessica yelled, and Tina looked up to see the young brunette tearing hell across the parking lot, angling back around the hospital. She neither slowed down nor looked back.

  “Let her go,” Dr. Crews said. “Just hand me the keys.”

  Tina didn’t immediately respond, her mind still in a numb shock.

  She just ran into them!

  But Brandon knew what he meant. The big CNA gently took the key rings from Tina’s hands, one of them sporting a garish University of South Carolina Gamecock key fob.

  “And hurry!” Buck added.

  The big paramedic was still at the door, his back pressed against it, strong arms spread wide and feet planted.

  “Just hold it, Buck,” Dr. Crews said. “It’s the only thing you have to do, hold that door.”

  Buck’s upper body jerked every couple of seconds, as if someone was ramming the door with enough force to jolt the big man, but not enough to dislodge him.

  Jessica and Caitlin stood nearby, waiting.

  Dr. Crews handed one of the key rings to Jessica, who pushed a button, making a small Toyota chirp.

  “Let’s see if I have better luck,” he said.

  The lights on a silver Chrysler Town & Country minivan flashed in response.

  “I think that’s Jenny’s car,” Caitlin commented.

  “Get it started please, and turn it so it’s facing the street, but not too close to the building.”

  “Got it,” Jessica said, taking the keys and running to the van.

  “Buck, just another minute or two, buddy.”

  “I’m good,” Buck answered with a grunt.

  The minivan started up with a whispered grind and catch, followed immediately by the soft squeal of brakes as Jessica backed and stopped, turned and stopped, maneuvering the big vehicle the way the doctor wanted it.

  “Okay you three, go get in,” he said.

  “That’s us,” Brandon commented, moving away from the building. Tina kept up, the two jogging past Caitlin, who pivoted and followed.

  “Leave the side door open,” Dr. Crews instructed, climbing into the front passenger seat. “And leave room for Buck to get in.”

  Brandon and Tina took seats in the back, leaving Caitlin in the middle. The short woman braced herself in the open door, ridiculous pink pistol aimed back out into the open.

  Ridiculous or not, the woman knows how to use it, Tina thought.

  Tina hadn’t had much experience with the night shift nurse and wondered where she’d learned to handle a weapon so well.

  Not the time or place, Tina, she admonished herself.

  “Okay Buck, whenever you’re ready, start running.” The doctor leaned out through the passenger window, pistol ready. “We’ll cover you.”

  Buck stood still for a minute, psyching himself up. Then he was moving, an explosion of speed that gave a hint as to what he’d been like as a teenager on the football field. He was halfway to the van before the door to Med-Surg opened, and already closing the side door before the first pursuer reached the half-way point.

  Then they were moving.

  Tina sucked in a breath to say something. They’d escaped. They were getting away.

  But she let it out without a word.

  “Anyone got a suggestion on where we should go?” the doctor asked.

  No one replied, which made the question even more important.

  What were they escaping to?

  “I need to check on my wife,” Buck said.

  “Then, that’s where we’ll start,” Dr. Crews replied.

  Chapter 31

  Jesse held onto the compact disc as the world within the hospital devolved into chaos.

  Get it to the CDC, the radiology technician said, and he intended to.

  But not Atlanta.

  That’s where the plane came from that destroyed his small piece of paradise in Greenwood, Mississippi.

  His phone was in his plane. Once he got back to it, he could Google the next best destination and then use another app to plot the correct series of hops to get him there.

  It shouldn’t be hard to get back to the airfield. He had his wallet with his ID and credit cards. And if what he’d seen in the hospital worked anything like what he’d seen in the airport back in Mississippi, he wasn’t in any immediate danger.

  I should call the police, he thought.

  But that would mean a lot of questions, maybe a good deal of suspicion. After all, how could he know
that everyone in the hospital was in danger? How would he know to warn the police about a possible biological weapon that changed normal people into raving lunatics, then spread from one to the other?

  Would they believe his warnings at first? Or would they charge in like the brave souls they were, ready to help others, and succeed only in getting themselves infected?

  Why didn’t it affect me?

  He didn’t have an answer for that question, either.

  Instead of calling for help, he walked along the street until an OnCue Express gas station came into view. Inside, he bought a cup of coffee and had the clerk call a cab. He wanted to get back to the airport, fuel up, and get airborne before the shit hit the fan. Then he could figure out what to do next.

  Officer Tim Reynolds was gone. In his place was a new being, stronger, faster, and built to hunt. His muscles thrummed with energy, ready to be unleashed. As the drawer opened and his body slid out, he forced himself to inhale, scents coming alive in his nose and across his tongue, names and identities written on them as easy to read as the six-foot letters on a billboard.

  Morgue.

  Marcus, prey, dead.

  Austin Wallace, become.

  Cliff Overfield, become.

  Kenja Brown, become.

  Daniel Rogers, become.

  There were other scents: the smell of stainless steel, the faint acid of chemical cleaners, residual lemon shampoo in one of the become’s hair. Farther away and fainter were smells of graphite and cordite, harsh things that brought a sting to his nose and water to his eyes. Gunpowder.

  The coppery scent of blood hung over everything, mixed with an ashy smell which he knew was the scent of his own blood, and that of every other become, a gritty, tasteless darkness like liquid death.

  Beyond it all was a fresher scent, like that of the Marcus-prey on the floor, but newer, more vibrant.

  Find them, the Austin-creator said.

  Tim Reynolds stalked out.

  The hunt had begun.

  Dr. Greg Lowman rode in the backseat of a Humvee and didn’t feel the thrum of the powerful engine. He didn’t wonder at the way the vehicle could ease up to a blockage and power through it, whether that be a single vehicle or two bumper-locked together. After five minutes, he no longer flinched every time the big gun on the roof sent out a rapid-fire volley, didn’t see the men and women rushing toward them torn apart by the high-caliber rounds, strangely dark blood spraying out from their bodies.